


Behind the Curtain

by shell



Series: Long Range Reconnaissance [9]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Coulson family - Freeform, F/M, M/M, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell/pseuds/shell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil had a lot of secrets. When they were younger, when he was still living at home, he'd shared them all with her. </p><p>When he left the Rangers, she'd expected him to join the FBI or CIA or something, but he calmly told her he'd taken a job as a government accountant. Yeah, he was good at math and paperwork, very organized, but did he think she was <em>stupid? </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks for this one to Watersword, Ainsley-bee, Mizz Marvel, Dine, Lyrstzha, and especially King Touchy, who helped me see I was writing two stories instead of one, which (eventually) enabled me to figure out which one to write. 
> 
> See notes at the bottom for possible warning(s) outside of the AO3 standards, plus a little more about the background of the story.

Liz Coulson was still in high school when her brother graduated college and went into the Army. After that, their relationship was mostly conducted in phone calls and emails, with the occasional face time on the rare holiday Phil was in the country and off from work long enough to make it to their parents' house. She loved him, so she took what she could get.

Phil had a lot of secrets. When they were younger, when he was still living at home, he'd shared them all with her. She was the first one he told when he decided to join the military (he'd been ten, she'd been six). Phil told her about TP'ing the gym teacher's house after he called one of the other boys a fag (Phil was fourteen, she was ten). She was the only one he confessed to after he cheated on a single, solitary quiz in AP biology (he was sixteen, she was twelve).

She was the first one he'd told when he realized he was gay. He was twenty; she was sixteen (and utterly unsurprised).

Once he was in the army, he had to stop telling her as much. She understood, but she couldn't help feeling a little hurt when he would start to say something and then cut himself off. She watched him school his face to avoid letting any emotion show, and she'd missed the days when his whole face would light up with his smile.

By the time he made it into the Rangers, he didn't have to cut himself off any more; he'd grown practiced at hiding things. She got better at reading the small shifts of expression he still let slip, the tiny hints of the emotion she knew he still felt just as deeply as he ever had.

She met Trevor while Phil was out of the country; she didn't get the chance to introduce her brother to her boyfriend until her boyfriend was her fiancé. "I've never met someone so controlled before," Trevor said the night they finally met. "Are you sure he's not a robot?"

"Don't be an asshole," she said, punching his shoulder. 

"I'm not," he protested, laughing. "Seriously, hon, it's a little terrifying. I sure wouldn't want to come up against him when he's armed. What do you think he does out there, anyway?"

"I don't know," Liz said, frowning. She knew Phil loved what he did, but he never talked about it.

Phil had a lot of secrets, even more than when he was a kid. The whole family had to learn to deal with his lies and evasions. They tried to ignore the danger he'd been in, tried not to wonder what, exactly, he was doing, and where he was doing it. 

When he left the Rangers, she'd expected him to join the FBI or CIA or something, but he calmly told her he'd taken a job as a government accountant. Yeah, he was good at math and paperwork, very organized, but did he think she was _stupid?_ She'd raised an eyebrow, and he'd frowned, but he hadn't said anything else. She got it, she did. Maybe it was the CIA, or the NSA, or something else, but he couldn't tell her, and she had to go along with it. So she, along with the rest of her family, pretended to believe him.

They wondered, but they didn't ask. Their father was the only one who'd ever bought the cover story, but he'd always had a blind spot where his son was concerned. What they did know was that whatever he was doing, it was important, he was good at it, and he loved it.

Liz worried, though. The last few months of 2001, she worried even more.

At least when he'd been in the Army they'd known who he actually worked for, and where he was supposedly stationed, even if that, too, was likely fictional. Now all they knew was that he--probably, at least some of the time--worked somewhere in Manhattan. Liz had been so scared on that September Tuesday that Trevor had had to stop her from getting in the car and driving to New York. 

Phil had assured them afterwards that he hadn't been anywhere near the Towers. Whether or not that was true, at least he hadn't been hurt. The ten and a half hours it took until Phil finally called them, the barest trace of a tremor in his voice audible, the line full of static and delays, had been the worst ten and a half hours of Liz's life, but he _had_ called, and he _was_ safe. 

She was in the kitchen that Christmas, decorating cookies with her kids. Phil had arrived a few hours earlier; it was the first time she'd seen him in a year. He was sitting on the living room sofa, his head hanging just a bit lower than usual, a barely visible slump in his shoulders. He hadn't noticed when Brian and Hannah had exploded into hoots of laughter at Liz's latest cookie, a Santa with a green suit and a blue face, and he'd made no move to join them in the kitchen. She didn't think he was hiding an injury, but something was definitely wrong. 

She sat down next to him and said, "What's wrong, Filbert?"

He glanced at her and said, "Nothing."

Yeah, right.

Liz gave him some time and space, but when he hadn't said anything by the following evening, she knew it was time to act.

"Is it 9/11?" she asked him once they were alone. "Thinking about the people you knew who were in the Towers?" She put her hand on his shoulder, and he leaned towards her. She wondered if he knew he was doing it.

He shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, Zee. There's no reason to keep bringing it up. I told you, I was on a business trip that day. I barely knew the men who died." 

He talked about them the same way he used to talk about the soldiers in his unit.

"Phil, come on," Liz said, focusing on the matter at hand. "Okay, it's not 9/11, but _something_ is bothering you. I haven't seen you moping like this since you were in college and that guy you were hung up on turned out to be straight."

His eyebrows went down in the middle, and his shoulder tensed under her hand. "I'm not moping," he said, in what counted as whining if you were Phil Coulson. 

"You are so," she said. "You know you're going to tell me eventually anyway, so spill."

" _Zee,"_ Phil said. 

She rested her head on his shoulder and waited. Even as a child, Phil had been circumspect about his emotions, but patience sometimes paid off.

"Go for a walk with me?" Phil asked after a long moment.

"Sure. I'll grab my coat."

Once they got outside, Phil headed west towards the cross-street that would take them down to the water, just as Liz had known he would. He didn't say anything, just walked, hunched over, his hands in his pockets. His hair was thinning, and he had more lines in his forehead and around his eyes than she was used to seeing. He'd been exhausted when he'd arrived, had slept until after ten that morning, and now that he was walking against the wind, she could see he had a bit of a limp. 

He _was_ hiding an injury again--not that she could bring it up. She'd have to ask Trevor to keep an eye on him.

When they got to the water, he put his arm around her. "It's really good to see you, Lizzy," he said. "I thought I might not make it out this year, but I'm glad I did."

"Me too, Filbert," she said, pulling him closer and kissing his cheek. Then she waited again.

"There's someone at work," he said, looking out at the bay. "I…."

"You like him," Liz filled in, knowing by the look on his face that it was a considerable understatement.

He nodded. "He's…Jesus, Liz, he's incredible. But we work together, and besides, he's not interested. I need to just forget about it."

"How do you know he's not interested?" Liz asked cautiously. "Is he straight?"

Phil shrugged one shoulder. "He definitely likes women, but I'm pretty sure he's bi. Doesn't matter, though--he doesn't see me that way. No reason he should."

"Why not?" Liz asked, bristling internally. Anyone, male or female, who couldn't see that her brother was gorgeous was blind and stupid.

"We…he's on my team," Phil said carefully. "We have a professional relationship; it wouldn't be appropriate. He's the best in the world at what he does, Lizzy. We make a good team. A great team. I can't do anything to jeopardize that; what we do is too important."

She avoided acknowledging the oblique reference to his job. "Does he actually work _for_ you?" she asked instead.

Phil shrugged again. "Technically, but it's really more of a collaboration. We each have our own role, but we complement each other."

"So, is this the kind of thing where HR's going to get on you for sexual harassment?" she said, bumping his shoulder.

Phil snorted. "No, it wouldn't be against any rules if we dated. But it that doesn't mean it would be appropriate. I recruited him."

Not for the first time, Liz wondered what it would be like to see Phil doing his job. She knew he was smart, he was strong, and he was good, even great, at everything he'd ever tried, except things like expressing his feelings and having relationships. She hoped his bosses recognized exactly how amazing he was, even if the dumbass he was hung up on didn't. 

"What's the worst that could happen if you told him how you felt?" she asked.

Phil snorted again. "You don't want to know." 

She looked at him, carefully considering what she wanted to say. "Phil, I don't…it's been a long time for you. Since you've had someone special in your life. You seem to feel pretty strongly about this guy. I'd hate for you to give up on it without ever giving it a chance."

Phil shook his head. "I don't know, maybe someday…."

"Just promise me you won't give up on the idea entirely," she said. "You never know. Maybe he feels the same way as you do."

"He doesn't," Phil said firmly. "I'd be able to tell, and he doesn't."

"Would he be able to tell how you feel?" she asked, tilting her head to study his face. "I mean, _I_ can tell, but I've known you all my life. Most people don't have a clue what you're thinking, much less what you're feeling."

Phil shook his head again. "He doesn't know, and that's the way it's got to stay."

"For now," she prompted.

He rolled his eyes. He said, "Fine, Lizzy, for now," in his _I'm humoring you because you're my little sister_ voice.

"So, is he hot?" she asked, smirking at him.

He laughed. "Unbelievably. His ass is superb, and his arms are a fucking work of art."

"Hotter than Captain America?" she teased.

He looked at her with a hint of a smile, but his eyes were sad. "I think I'd have to say yes."

"Jesus, Phil, you've got it bad," she said, then wished she hadn't.

He just laughed again, and shook his head. "Come on, let's get back to the house." She didn't bring it up again that visit, and neither did he.

***  
She'd ask about the guy she'd dubbed Mystery Co-Worker now and again. Sometimes Phil would tell her to mind her own business. Sometimes he'd go quiet, then say that there was no point in dwelling on it; the guy wasn't interested. But by the following Christmas, he and Mystery Co-Worker were "friends." By mid-2003, they'd progressed to "good friends." Phil insisted he was satisfied with that. 

Liz knew her brother didn't have a lot of close friends, so she didn't press it. Much.

Two and a half years after his Christmas confession, Phil told her the Mystery Co-Worker had been over to his apartment for dinner a few times. There was a trace of hope in his voice. She said, "Tell him, Phil," and for the first time, he didn't immediately demur.

"What if I fuck up our friendship?" he asked.

"What if you don't?" she asked. "What if you're wrong about how he feels? You've said there isn't anyone else he's close to. It's got to mean something, that he wants to spend so much time with you."

"Maybe," Phil said. His cell phone rang and he had to go.

He went off on another "business trip" after that; she didn't talk to him for a few months. When he finally called her, it was late, nearly ten at night, and the call came from a blocked number. Once she knew who it was, she took the phone out into the kitchen so she wouldn't disturb Trevor; he had early rounds.

"What happened? Are you okay?" she asked. She was worried he was hurt again, calling her from some hospital bed with injuries he'd never mention to anyone else. On the rare occasions that he made it up to the house during the summer, they'd pretend not to notice the brief hesitation before he'd take his shirt off at the beach, and he'd pretend not to notice all of them silently cataloging whatever new scars had appeared since the last time, whatever healing bruises or lacerations were visible. 

"I'm fine," he said, but he really, really wasn't. 

"Tell me, Phil," she said firmly, schooling her voice to hide how scared she was.

She heard him shut a door. "I shouldn't be calling you, not now," he said. Holy shit, was he actually calling her from _work?_ "It's ridiculous; I shouldn't be this upset."

She bit her lip and waited. 

"He met someone, Liz," Phil said after a moment. "He's been seeing her for a few weeks. I think he's in love with her."

"Oh, Phil, I'm so sorry," she said sinking down onto the floor. At least he wasn't physically hurt. "Listen, why don't you come down here for the weekend? The kids would love to see you, and so would I."

Phil blew out a breath. "I can't. There's too much going on. Maybe in a few months."

"How about I come up there?" she offered. "You can't tell me you don't have time for lunch with your sister."

"You can't come all the way up here for lunch, Zee," Phil said. "It's a five hour drive. Honestly, I _don't_ have time, not now. I haven't even made it home yet; I need to get back to work."

"Okay. I'm glad you called," she said, because she didn't know what else to say. "You can call again, any time; you know that. I love you."

"Love you too," Phil said. "I've got to go. Thanks for listening. I'll call again when I get a chance, but it might be a while."

***  
"A while" turned out to be an understatement. Liz barely spoke to Phil for the next three months; he was always in the middle of some crisis at work. She'd leave him a message, and at some point she'd get a text on her phone (she didn't even know how to text, but Phil always had the newest tech, and he always knew how to use it), or an email composed in the middle of the night. It was only when she left a message accusing him of being replaced by a robot that he called her back, and even then he only had time to reassure her of his humanity and tell her he loved her.

When he came for Thanksgiving that year, she was shocked at his appearance. He'd lost weight (and more hair), his skin was pale and sallow, and everything about him screamed exhaustion and overwork. She hugged him hard, and when he started to back away, she held on for another minute. 

"I'm fine, Zee," he said when she finally let go. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

She snorted, but she didn't call him on it until they were walking on the beach the next day. The weather was perfect: bright, sunny, and unseasonably warm. There wasn't even much of a breeze. She put rested her hand in the crook of his elbow and said, "What's going on, brother mine?" in as mild a tone as she could manage.

Phil was quiet for probably thirty seconds, looking off into the distance. "Hell if I know," he said eventually.

"Is it the mystery guy again?" she asked carefully. "It's got to be hard watching him with someone else."

Phil shook his head. "She broke up with him. He took it pretty hard. Left for a long-term assignment overseas. I don't know if or when he'll be back." He looked down. "He didn't say goodbye, Lizzy."

"Oh, Phil," Liz said, and hugged him. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too," Phil said. 

Phil slept a lot that week. No one, not even their father, gave him any shit about it. By the time he left, he was looking a little less sallow. When he came home for Christmas, he was almost back to normal, at least until he got called back to work on Christmas Eve. 

Liz didn't bring up Mystery Co-Worker again, and neither did Phil, not until the following summer.

"He's back," Phil said. Liz didn't have to ask who Phil meant.

"Yeah? How is it with him?" she asked instead.

"Good, I think," Phil said. "We're back to being friends, at least. He's coming over tonight for pizza."

"Be careful, Filbert," she said. "Don't let him break your heart again."

"I'm just glad he's back, Lizzy," Phil said.

Liz was busy that summer and into the fall. She had a kid in middle school, which was kind of mind-boggling, and her case load had increased. She didn't have much time left over to worry about Phil. She told herself he was a grown man, and if she could handle being forty with two kids, he could handle his long-term unrequited love affair on his own.

In late October, things calmed down a bit, and she realized none of them had talked to Phil about Thanksgiving. He always came up for the holiday if he could, but he usually gave them a heads-up about the chances around that time of year. 

She figured she'd just end up leaving a message when she called that Friday evening, so she was surprised when he picked up.

"Oh, hi, I didn't think you'd be home," she said. "I was getting ready to leave you a message."

"Phil's not here at the moment," someone said. 

Someone who was not her brother. 

"He's on his way, though; can I have him call you?"

"Uh, sure," she said. "Can you tell him Liz called?"

"Liz as in his sister?" the guy said. There was a faint trace of alarm in his voice.

"Yeah, his sister. So, you know who I am, but I don't know who you are," she said, figuring she might as well be blunt.

"Sorry. This is Clint. Like I said, Phil will be home soon--"

"Clint," Liz said, cutting him off. "Why are you answering my brother's phone? Not to be rude, but why are you in his apartment?" Phil lived alone, and he valued his privacy; she couldn't believe he'd let someone else answer his phone.

There was a pause. "Phil was planning on telling you this himself, so this is a little awkward, but my name's Clint Barton, and I live here. I moved in a week ago."

"You moved in. As in, you're living with my brother." As in, her brother finally had not only a boyfriend, but one who he'd invited to _move in_ with him, because Phil would never in a million years have a roommate. 

"That's right," Clint Barton said. "We've known each other for years, but, uh, Phil finally happened to mention that--"

"Wait," Liz said, her heart pounding as she figured it out. "Holy crap. You're the guy. You're the Mystery Co-Worker, right? The guy my brother's been in love with for years, that's _you?"_ Then she put her hand over her face, because if this was some _other_ guy, she'd just fucked up royally. 

The guy, Clint, chuckled, and the pressure in her chest eased. "Yeah, that's me, although I tend to think of it the other way around. Shit, he's gonna kill me that he didn't get to tell you this himself."

"He'll get over it," she said. 

Clint laughed again. 

"Wait," Liz said again, putting a few things together. "You've been in love with Phil for _years?"_

"Is that a problem?" Clint asked hesitantly. 

"Why didn't you _tell_ him?" she burst out. 

There was another pause. "I should have," Clint said. "I guess I'm used to keeping things to myself." 

"Damned straight you should have," Liz said. "And he should have told you. I told him to tell you. You're not the only one who keeps things to themselves."

"We were both idiots," Clint said, and she could hear the fondness in his voice.

There was the sound of a door opening in the background, and Phil saying, "Hey, sorry it took me so long. Who's on the phone?"

"Just a minute," Clint told her. Then he said, "It's your sister, Liz. I had to tell her who I was; I think she was afraid I'd broken in or something."

It was quiet for a second, and then there was a soft noise that Liz suspected was her quiet, reserved brother kissing his boyfriend before he picked up the phone.

"Hey, Zee," he said, like he always did, but he sounded happier than she could remember him sounding since he was a kid.

Phil told her a crazy story about getting drunk and confessing his feelings that didn't sound like the brother she knew, but she didn't push it. She confirmed that Phil would be coming for Thanksgiving, and bringing Clint, although she suspected this was the first time he'd discussed his family with his new boyfriend. She reminded him to call their parents and sister with the news. "You know how Jenny will be," she told him, and he'd agreed.

***  
When Trevor got home that night (late, thanks to a busy shift at the hospital), she gave him a big hug and a kiss before shooing him off to help Brian with his biology homework. Jenny called a half hour later.

"So Phil has a hot new boy toy, and you've known about him forever, apparently," she said after Liz said hello. "I suppose I should expect that; he never tells me anything."

Jen and Phil had been close when Jen was young, but when Phil had come out to the family, she'd sided with their father, who'd been horrified. Even though they both came around to accepting Phil's sexuality, he'd been hurt by Jen's initial reaction. There'd been a slight distance between them ever since, despite Jen's attempts to bridge it.

"Jen, come on, there wasn't anything to know," Liz said, annoyed. "I knew he was crazy about someone he worked with, that's all. I only found out about Clint today because I called to leave Phil a message about Thanksgiving." 

"Really?" Jen asked. "That's all you knew?"

"I used to refer to him as 'Mystery Co-Worker,'" Liz said. "I didn't even know his name. I was completely shocked when he answered the phone; I had no idea anything had happened between them." But she'd known Phil was head over heels in love with Clint, and she'd known exactly why Phil had been in such bad shape the previous year. She couldn't tell Jen about all of that, not without causing more drama. She loved her sister, but Jen was an expert at drama.

They talked for a few more minutes, Jen speculating wildly about what Clint would be like when they met him. They both avoided any discussion about what Clint might actually do. Jen was convinced their phones were bugged, which Liz (mostly) thought was ridiculous. 

After she got off the phone, she gathered her troops for a talk. Phil's sexuality had never been a secret in their family, but it had been an abstract idea for her kids, never anything they had to face head on. She wasn't sure how they were going to react.

"So, I have some news," she said. "I talked to Uncle Phil today. He's bringing someone with him to Grandma and Grandpa's for Thanksgiving, and I thought we should talk about it."

"What do you mean, Mom?" Brian asked, his forehead wrinkling.

"She means Uncle Phil has a boyfriend, stupidhead," Hannah said, elbowing him.

"Don't call your brother stupid," Trevor said. He turned to Liz. "This is why you were in such a good mood when I got home?"

"Yep," she answered with a grin. "Kids, you know what a private person Uncle Phil is. This is a big deal, and I hope you can respect that."

"We get it, Mom," Brian said, rolling his eyes. "We're not gonna say anything homophobic or anything."

"What do you know about this guy, Mom?" Hannah asked. "How come we've never heard about him before?"

"I don't know a lot," Liz said carefully. "His name is Clint. He works with Phil, and they've known each other for years. They only got together a few weeks ago."

"Is this guy as emotionally constipated as your brother?" Trevor asked with a smirk.

"I think they're both good at hiding their feelings," Liz said diplomatically.

"Is Uncle Phil in love with him?" Hannah asked. 

Liz nodded. "I think he is, honey."

"I wonder if they'll want to get married," Hannah said. _She'll be joining PFLAG and donating to the Human Rights Campaign by the end of the month,_ Liz thought, hiding a smile.

"Is he an accountant too?" Brian asked.

"I don't know," Liz said. "He works with Phil, so I guess he probably is."

"Is Uncle Phil _really_ an accountant?" Hannah asked. 

"Yes," Liz and Trevor said simultaneously. 

"We're not dumb, Mom," Hannah said. 

"No one thinks you're dumb," Trevor said. "Uncle Phil works for the government, and that's all we know for sure."

"And that's all there is to say," Liz said. "Not another word, understand?"

***  
She didn't hear from Phil for the next couple of weeks, but that wasn't anything new, especially since he'd told her he was going on one of his "business trips." As usual, she couldn't help worrying about him and wondering what dangers he might be facing. She kept her cell phone charged and close at hand, knowing Phil would at least text her when he got back into town, but there was nothing. She got more worried with each passing day.

Her phone finally rang in the early hours of Sunday morning, only a few days before Thanksgiving. She answered it with a quiet, "Phil?" and sat up without turning the light on.

"Lizzy," Phil said in a choked voice.

 _Oh, God._ "What is it, what happened?"

"Sorry to call so late," Phil said, sounding like he was hanging on by a thread.

"It's okay, Phil. Just tell me what happened." Trevor had awakened and put his arms around her, his breath soft and warm against her neck, anchoring her.

"It's Clint," Phil said. "We, there was an accident. Car accident. He's in bad shape, Lizzy; it's bad."

"But you, you're not hurt?" Liz asked, because while she wanted Clint to be okay, she _needed_ Phil to be okay.

"A few cuts and bruises, nothing serious," Phil said. "That's not…don't worry about me. It's Clint. He lost a lot of blood. They say there's a good chance he'll survive, but it's not a hundred percent; they don't know for sure. They're doing surgery. He might lose his leg, Lizzy."

"Just give me a few hours, Phil," Liz said, flicking on the light and looking for the pad of paper and pen she kept on the bedside table. "What hospital?"

"Christ, Liz, I'd love it if you could, but you can't," Phil said. "He can't have any outside visitors." The exasperation in his voice was welcome; it made him sound like himself again.

"I wouldn't be coming for him," Liz said pointedly. "I'd be coming for you. I don't care if I'm stuck in some waiting room bringing you bad coffee. You shouldn't be alone."

"I'm not," Phil said. "And you can't. I'm sorry, but you can't come here. I shouldn't have called; I should go."

"Don't you dare hang up on me," Liz said. "I get it. I won't come up, but that doesn't mean you have to go."

"Okay," Phil said after a moment. "Thanks. It's good to hear your voice. It helps."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" she asked carefully.

"I can't," Phil said. 

"You were there with him?" she asked.

"Yeah," Phil said heavily. "I tried…fuck, Liz."

"Never mind," she said quickly. "Don't…you don't have to tell me anything about it. How long has he been in surgery?"

"More than three hours," Phil said. "I'm trying to tell myself that's good, because if there was nothing they could do but amputate, it would be over already, but no one will tell me anything."

"Do you want to talk to Trev?" Liz asked, grasping for something, anything, to help her brother. "He's right here."

"Yeah," Phil said. "If he's okay with it."

"Of course he's okay with it," Liz said. "Here."

She put the phone on speaker and watched Trevor's concerned expression as he listened to Phil's description of Clint's injuries. According to Phil, Clint had broken ribs, two broken fingers, a deep wound in his abdomen, another in his thigh, and a half dozen broken bones in his foot and ankle. That's what they were operating on; they'd already closed up the wounds and given him several units of blood. 

"And no one's come out to give you a progress report?" Trevor asked, frowning. "You said you're his next of kin, right? There's no other family?"

"That's right," Phil answered. "No, they haven't said anything."

"Is there anyone there--a nurse, a case manager, someone I could talk to?" Trevor said. "I mean, if I have your permission. I won't ask anything sensitive, I promise."

There was another pause. "Hang on a minute," Phil said. "Let me see if I can find him." Liz could hear the click of his shoes as he walked down the hallway.

Phil said, "Mr. Hernandez, do you have a moment?" a minute or two later. He didn't seem to be doing anything to mute the phone.

A voice said, "Of course, Agent Coulson. What can I do for you? How is Agent Barton?"

Trevor and Liz looked at each other. Trevor mouthed the words, "Agent Coulson? Holy shit."

Liz nodded, eyes wide. Phil's voice, distant but still perfectly audible, said, "That's just it. I have no idea. I've been talking to my brother-in-law, who's an emergency room physician, and he was wondering if there was anyone he could speak to. You were very helpful last month; would you be willing to talk to him?"

"I could do that, but I'm afraid I don't know anything, sir," the other man, Mr. Hernandez, said. He spoke with a hint of a drawl. "Has he been read in?"

"Not exactly," Phil said. "It's in process. I'd appreciate your discretion, Mr. Hernandez."

Liz and Trevor looked at each other again.

"Yes, sir; I understand," Hernandez said. "I'd be happy to talk to him."

"Thank you," Phil said, and got back on the line. "Trevor, I have one of our nurses here, Mr. Hernandez."

Liz tried to listen as her husband talked to the nurse, but she couldn't really focus on the conversation. Phil had to have known they could hear him, which meant he wanted them to know, despite the rules he must be breaking. She didn't know what to think about that. She'd always said she wanted to know, but now she wasn't so sure. Whatever had happened to Clint, it sure as hell wasn't a car accident.

Trevor finished up whatever he was saying, and the nurse left to check on Clint.

"Thanks, Trevor," Phil said. There was a pause, and she could picture him readying himself for what came next. "Liz, I know you must have a lot of questions, but I'm going to ask you to be patient with me a little while longer."

"I understand," she said, although she didn't, not really.

She sent Trevor back to bed and stayed on the phone with Phil, listening as Phil told her a little more about the man he'd fallen in love with. She learned that Clint hated shellfish and liked mashed potatoes, that he'd grown up in foster care, and that he'd been in some sort of trouble when Phil found him. Phil never came out and said it, but Liz easily inferred that Clint had been abused as a kid.

"He's the strongest man I've ever known," Phil told her. "Somehow, despite his childhood, he managed to do more than just survive. There's no one in the world who comes close to his skill level, but beyond that, he's a good man. He's still a good man."

"Of course he is," Liz said. "You wouldn't have fallen in love with him if he weren't."

Hernandez came back and talked to Phil, this time out of earshot. When Phil got back on the phone, his voice was thick as he said, "It's good news, Zee. The surgery's going well. They won't have to amputate, and his vitals are stable."

"That's great, Filbert," Liz said, her eyes filling with tears of relief. "Call me if anything changes, or if you need anything. Take care of yourself, not just Clint. I'll let Mom know in the morning--no details. I'll tell her it was a car accident, and that you're hoping you'll still be able to make up there."

"Thanks, Zee," Phil said. "For everything. I love you."

"Love you, too. You and Clint will be in our thoughts." She didn't say "prayers," because she knew that would make Phil uncomfortable, but as soon as she hung up, she shut her eyes and prayed harder than she'd prayed in years.

She gave Trevor the news when she got back into bed. He kissed her neck and spooned her until they both fell back asleep. The alarm went off way too soon, but when it did, there was a text from Phil, as promised: _Out of surgery. Still wants to come for Thanksgiving, if doctors will let him. Reservations at the Inn; no stairs._

Trevor read the text over her shoulder and bussed her cheek. "I need to get in the shower and to the hospital for rounds," he said. "Keep me posted."

"Agent Coulson and Agent Barton," Liz said, taking his hand to keep him close for another minute. 

He nodded. "Agent Coulson and Agent Barton."

***  
Liz tried not to be worried when Phil didn't answer his cell phone on Tuesday afternoon. It was probably something innocuous; he was taking a shower or something. She left a voicemail before she dialed his home number from her cell. 

She'd gone out into the sunroom to make the call, not wanting to worry her mother, who was making a list for the grocery store. She and the kids had made the drive up to Connecticut on Monday; Trevor would be joining them the following day. Her father and Scott had taken the kids out to the beach to fly kites, braving the late November chill. Jen was taking a nap.

The phone rang four times, and she was getting ready to leave another message when someone picked up with an out of breath "hello." 

"Clint?" she said, unsure.

"Yeah. Who's this?" There was a muffled grunt, probably from him sitting down again.

"It's Liz," she said. "You're home already?"

"Oh, hey, Liz," he said, sounding pleased and a little nervous. "Yeah, they sprung me this morning. Sorry I didn't pick up Phil's phone--that was you, right?"

"Uh-huh," she confirmed. 

"Phil's asleep," Clint continued, and the affection in his voice made Liz smile. "I confiscated his cell, but I forgot about the landline. I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you, but if the phone didn't wake him, I don't want to. He needs the sleep."

"I'm sure he does," Liz agreed. "I'm guessing you do as well."

"Nah," Clint said. "I slept enough in, uh, in the hospital."

She didn't know him well, barely knew his voice on the phone, but Liz thought the casual tone was a bit forced. She told herself firmly it was none of her business. "No need to wake him," she said. "I was just calling to check in."

"Your family's been doing that a lot," Clint said. "Not that I mind," he added quickly. "It's nice, knowing I'm not the only one who has his back."

"It's not just Phil we're checking on, you know," Liz said carefully. "We may not have met you yet, but that doesn't mean we don't care about you, too."

There was a pause. "Thanks," Clint said. "I appreciate it."

"Other than not tired, how are you feeling?" Liz asked. She wasn't sure if it was the right tack to take, but went for it anyway.

"Good," Clint said. She frowned a little at the lie; from what she knew of his injuries, he had to be in a lot of pain. "We'll be heading up on Thursday morning. There in plenty of time for dinner."

She considered a couple of different responses and settled on, "Everyone's excited to meet you. Phil's never brought anyone home before."

"I've never been brought home by anyone before," Clint said, then took in a sharp breath. 

"Are you okay?" Liz asked. She couldn't tell if he was in pain or it was something else. Phil had told her Clint was nervous ("scared shitless" had been the words he'd used) about meeting the family.

"Yeah," Clint answered quickly. "I'm fine. But I should probably go. I need to figure out what to order for dinner; neither one of us is gonna be up for cooking tonight. You want me to have him call you when he wakes up?"

"Not unless he feels like it," she said. "Like I said, I was just checking in, and it sounds like the two of you are doing okay. Give him a kiss for me, and the two of you take care of yourselves. I'll see you on Thursday."

"See you then," Clint said, and hung up. 

She frowned at her phone for a minute before going into the kitchen. "Hi, Mom," she said, coming up behind her mother and wrapping her arms around her waist. She kissed her mother's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Elizabeth," her mother said, looking at her with a puzzled smile. "Were you able to get a hold of Phillip?"

Liz shook her head. "He was asleep. I talked to Clint, though. He's home from the hospital, and they're planning on driving up here on Thursday morning."

"That's wonderful," her mother said. "Isn't it?" she asked after a moment, studying Liz's face.

Liz nodded. "Yeah, of course it is. I just…. Mom, I told him we were excited he was coming, because Phil had never brought anyone home before, and you know what he said?"

"What?" 

"He said he'd never been brought home by anyone before." Her mother looked as sad at that as Liz felt. "And from what Phil's told me--please don't let on I've told you this, okay?"

Her mother nodded seriously.

"Phil said Clint lost his parents when he was really young. He grew up in the foster system. He didn't come right out and say it, but I think Clint was abused."

Her mother's eyes went wide. "That's terrible, honey. He doesn't have any family at all?"

"I don't think so," Liz said. "Phil said he was equal parts excited and scared about coming here. And Mom, I don't know how much Phil told you, but he was really badly hurt."

"We'll just have to make sure to watch out for him, then," her mother said, squeezing her hand. 

***  
Liz had thought she knew what to expect; she knew Phil had been more open with her about Clint's injuries than he had with the rest of the family. Clint would be on crutches, thanks not just to his broken foot but also the wound in his thigh. He had two broken fingers, which must make using the crutches painful, and broken ribs besides. She winced when she remembered how much she'd hated being on crutches with a mere sprained ankle. Phil hadn't mentioned any other injuries, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

She and Scott were the only ones in the front room when the car pulled up. They watched through the window as Phil got out first, opening the trunk to get the crutches out. The passenger side door opened, but Clint didn't get out until Phil came around to help him. 

Clint's face was a mass of bruises and cuts in various stages of healing. Liz could tell that they'd occurred over days, or even weeks, not all at one time. He hopped out on his right leg, balancing with his hand on Phil's shoulder until he could get the crutches in place. His knuckles were abraded, like he'd been in a fight; so were Phil's. Phil's face wasn't as bad as Clint's, but he had a laceration from the outer edge of his right eyebrow to his hairline and a sizeable bruise on his left cheek.

"Car accident, my ass," Scott muttered under his breath. Liz glared at him, and he shrugged. 

"They're here," she called out, going to the door and opening it. 

Phil greeted the family the same way he always did, although he clung to everyone a fraction longer than usual when they hugged him. Everyone tried to tread a fine line between fussing over Clint and making him uncomfortable--or more uncomfortable. The crutches kept anyone from hugging him, which was probably for the best; his shoulders were hunched up, and his eyes moved over his surroundings continuously. 

Up close, Clint's eyes were an arresting blend of blue, green, and gold. His black sweater clung to his arms and chest closely, and his biceps flexed impressively with every move of the crutches. The corner of Phil's mouth went up when he noticed Liz looking at Clint appreciatively. She ducked her head and smiled.

Once he'd greeted everyone, Phil got Clint settled at the kitchen table, where the kids were playing cards. Liz noticed that he moved the chair at an angle; she puzzled over it until she realized Phil had positioned Clint so he could see the exits. When he bent to kiss Clint on the temple, whispering something in his ear, Clint closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his shoulders weren't quite as tense, and the tender smile that he gave her brother transformed his face, even with the bruises and scabs, into something beautiful. 

Phil joined her on the sofa a few minutes later. "So?" he asked quietly, his brow wrinkling just enough to let her know how much her opinion mattered.

"He's great, Phil," she said. "Just look at the way he's bonding with the kids."

Clint had only been at the table a short while, but Hannah was already laughing at something he'd said. Then he took the deck of cards and started tossing them at the Christmas tree, which was at least twenty feet away in the living room. They landed perfectly on the branches, every one face out and at the same angle, marching around the tree. "Whoa, where did you learn how to do that?" Brian exclaimed.

"The circus," Clint answered with a shrug and a sly grin.

"You're kidding!" Stephanie said. "You didn't really learn in the circus, did you?"

"He really did," Phil called from the sofa. "Have you ever heard of the Amazing Hawkeye?"

The kids all shook their heads, and Clint laughed. "Card tricks weren't really my thing, but I picked up a few things," he said. "Here, let me show you."

"The Amazing Hawkeye?" Liz asked Phil.

Phil actually _grinned,_ the biggest smile she'd seen on his face in longer than she could remember. "Best marksman in the world, especially with a bow and arrow. You can google it if you don't believe me; just don't tell him. The costume they made him wear is hideous."

"Not exactly one of your designer suits, huh?" Liz said, smiling back at him. 

"Christ, no," Phil said. "Purple spandex," he added, giving her a horrified look. 

"I can hear you, Coulson," Clint said loudly. "It was the _circus,_ remember? It's not like I wore it outside of the ring."

"What's this about a circus?" their father asked, looking up from his book. He wasn't wearing his hearing aid.

"Clint used to be in the circus, Evan," her mother explained loudly. 

"Not much of a living there, son," her father admonished Clint. "Good thing you went into finance instead." 

"Yes, sir," Clint said politely. He picked up four napkin rings and juggled them fluidly, despite the splints on two of his fingers.

"Now you're just showing off," Phil said, that huge smile back on his face. Clint threw the rings rapidly at Phil's head in response. Phil caught them easily and began juggling them himself. He was doing fine until Clint tossed him a fifth ring, then a sixth. Phil tried to keep up but couldn't, laughing as he started dropping them. He threw them back to Clint, who stacked them on the table in a way that should have defied the rules of gravity.

"Were you in the circus, too, Uncle Phil?" Brian asked, wide-eyed. This was a side of her brother Liz had never seen before. She liked it.

"No, but Clint's taught me a few things over the years," Phil answered. "Once he's healed up, maybe he'll show you some other stuff."

"Like with a bow and arrow?" Hannah said eagerly. "Like Legolas?"

"I don't know about that, kiddo," Clint said, ruffling her hair. His face was a little pink beneath the bruises. "Depends on what your mom and dad say."

"How old were you when you learned?" Stephanie asked.

Clint's shoulders stiffened again. "I was ten."

"I'm older than that already," Hannah said, a determined look on her face. "Mom, Dad, can I, please? Maybe I could get a bow for Christmas, and Uncle Clint could start teaching me then."

Clint coughed, grabbing at his ribs. Phil was at his side in an instant. Hannah noticed Clint's expression and said, "Is it okay if I call you that? I don't have to."

Clint took a slow breath, Phil's hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," he said, and cleared his throat. "If you want to, Hannah, that's…I'd really like that. I've never been anyone's uncle before, though, so you might have to clue me in on what my exact responsibilities are."

"It pretty much comes down to spoiling her rotten whenever you get the chance," Phil said, reaching his free arm out and pulling Hannah into a hug. She giggled when he blew a raspberry into her neck, same as she always did, although if Liz or Trevor had tried it, she'd have informed them she was too grown up. 

Brian crowded into the hug, announcing he was ten, so he could learn how to shoot like Uncle Clint too. He was closer to Clint than to Phil, and he bumped squarely into Clint's left leg. Clint's face went blank for a second. He reached out with his left arm and effortlessly pulled Brian up until he was perched on Clint's right thigh, keeping his hand on Brian's knee to keep him still. He was breathing carefully, and Liz could see him forcibly relax his expression.

Stephanie chose that moment to get in on the action. "It might be cool to learn how to juggle," she said, wriggling past Hannah to get at Phil. She'd shot up three inches that year, and she'd never been the most graceful kid; she took after her father more than her mother in that respect. She lost her balance somehow and landed on Clint's broken foot, then made it worse by putting a hand out to catch herself on Clint's left thigh.

He didn't make a sound, but his face went grey, his eyes screwed shut, and his jaw clenched. The kids scrambled away from him, Brian managing to kick his thigh when he got down. Stephanie was wailing that she was sorry, she didn't mean to, she swore she didn't mean to.

Clint took a slow breath and said, "It's okay; I know you didn't mean to." He actually managed to smile at her reassuringly, although he was holding onto Phil's hand so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his face was still a sickly grey. The moment the kids turned away, the smile disappeared, Clint's chest rising and falling as he took slow, controlled breaths.

Liz had never been so glad that her family was the way it was. Jen and Scott immediately rounded the kids up and took them down to the basement, her parents cleared off the sofa, and Trevor helped Phil get Clint up and over to the living room, all in less than sixty seconds. Liz got bags of frozen peas and frozen corn out and tossed them to Phil, who caught them without taking his eyes off Clint. Their parents stayed in the kitchen.

Trevor got the boot off and examined Clint's foot with a slight frown of concentration. He seemed satisfied with what he found, reaching for the frozen peas and putting them gently on top. 

Clint drew a sharp breath through his teeth. "I'm okay, Phil," he said when Phil brushed his thumb over Clint's forehead. 

"Shut up and let me see," Phil said, in a tone that indicated he was used to having his orders obeyed. He pulled Clint's track pants down past his knees to expose Clint's thighs, ignoring Liz and Trevor. 

Clint's thighs were just as well-muscled as the rest of him, but besides the bruises Liz had expected, there several small, round scabs that looked familiar. _Cigarette burns,_ her mind helpfully supplied. She suppressed a shudder, remembering some of the kids she'd helped over the years. There was also a larger burn, probably something electrical. Liz looked at Phil and wondered if he was hiding similar marks under his clothing. He looked calm and focused, like he saw this kind of thing _(cigarette burns)_ every day.

The burns weren't the issue at the moment, though. There were spots of blood coming through the bandage that started a few inches above Clint's knee. "Trevor," Phil said, his voice mild and commanding.

"Let's take a look," Trevor said in his professional voice, the one he used to soothe crying kids and distraught parents. He pulled back the tape and the gauze to expose the wound. It was ugly and deep, about seven inches long. The sutures holding it together were pulled tight, but they gaped up at the top of the wound, and blood was pooling in the open area.

"Liz, there's a first aid kit in the trunk," Phil said, reaching one hand into his jeans and handing her a set of keys. "Bring my briefcase in, too; that's where Clint's meds are." It was another order, and Liz obeyed it automatically.

"It's not that big a deal; it's just a couple popped stitches," Clint was saying when she came back inside. Her parents were basting the turkey and casting worried glances toward the living room, but their view was blocked by the back of the sofa.

"I don't think you need packing, but we could use some steri-strips or even some Dermabond about now," Trevor said thoughtfully. He'd placed a dishtowel under Clint's thigh to protect the sofa. "We should probably go to the hospital; I don't even have any gloves here."

"There are some in my kit," Phil said, all his attention on Clint. "They're sevens, so they might be a bit tight for you."

"No, that'll work. This is great, Phil," Trevor said, looking through the tackle box Liz had brought in. "Sterile saline, irrigation syringes, fluffs, sterile gloves, even Dermabond--you've got everything I need."

"That's Phil, always prepared," Clint said, with barely a hint of pain audible, even as Trevor sprayed saline into the wound to clean it out. Liz could see what Phil had meant when he called Clint the strongest man he'd ever known. 

"Well, he was an Eagle Scout," Liz muttered, and Clint honest to God _laughed._

"Of course he was," he said, smiling up at Phil.

"Let me see the other one," Phil said, pulling Clint's sweater up. Clint's abdomen had the same burns as his thighs, but the bruising was much worse. The bandage just above the waistband of his boxer briefs was unmarked, the white standing out against the bruises.

"It's fine, Phil," Clint said, putting his hand over Phil's to stop him from loosening the tape. "Doesn't even hurt."

Phil snorted. He placed his hand very lightly on the area, tracing the edge of a bruise with his finger.

"Not much, anyway," Clint amended. "And it hasn't gotten any worse, I promise."

Phil looked up at that. He studied Clint's face closely, then nodded, pulling the sweater back into place and bending to kiss Clint's forehead. "Okay," he said quietly.

Trevor had finished irrigating the wound and was watching it critically. "Are you on any anticoagulants, Clint?" he asked. "Blood thinners?"

"Yeah, they were giving me that shot in the belly, I forget the name of it," Clint said, looking at Phil.

"Heparin," Phil confirmed. "Five thousand units. I gave him his last dose yesterday."

Trevor nodded, still watching the wound, which continued to bleed sluggishly. "What are you on for pain, Norco?"

"Ten and three-twenty-five. When he'll take it," Phil said, looking at Clint pointedly. 

Clint shrugged. "Aspirin works almost as well, and it doesn't knock me out."

"Aspirin's another blood thinner, Barton," Phil said. "There's a reason the docs ordered what they did, and I'd appreciate it if you'd actually listen to me, even if you won't listen to them."

Trevor was watching the two of them closely while bandaging the wound again, this time winding the gauze all around Clint's thigh to provide extra pressure.

"Fine, I'll switch to Tylenol," Clint said. 

"You need more than Tylenol, at least for a while," Phil said, gesturing to Liz for her to hand over his briefcase. He pressed his thumb into an indentation on the front, and she heard the lock disengage. She caught a glimpse of file folders, manila envelopes, and the unmistakable outline of a gun before he took a prescription bottle out and shut the case again. She got up and went into the kitchen for a glass of water, telling herself to keep it together.

"That should hold it," Trevor said, glancing at her with a look that clearly said, _Did you see that, too?_ "You need to take it easy for the rest of the day, though."

"Oh, he will," Phil promised, shaking two pills out of the bottle.

"Both of them?" Clint asked, making a face. Phil nodded firmly and put both pills into his hand. "Fine, but don't blame me if I pass out and land face-first in the mashed potatoes."

"The turkey needs at least another hour or two. You could stretch out on the sofa in the sunroom and get some rest," Liz offered, relieved that her voice wasn't shaking. "I'll make sure the kids stay out."

"It's a good idea, Clint," Phil said. A significant look of some kind passed between them, and then Clint nodded, pulling his pants back up over his hips.

Trevor helped Phil guide Clint from one sofa to the other. The one in the sunroom was older, but it was also wider, longer, and generally more comfortable than the one in the living room. To Liz's surprise, Phil settled onto the sofa as well, his back against the armrest. Clint rested his head and shoulders against Phil's chest, turning his head to give Phil a kiss. Trevor fastened the boot back around Clint's foot and ankle, checking the fit carefully before replacing the frozen peas. He put the frozen corn on Clint's thigh.

Liz grabbed a couple of throw pillows for under Clint's leg, and another for Phil's back. "Here," she said, helping Phil reposition himself without jostling Clint's leg. She pressed her lips against his cheek for a moment before she stood up. He was her brother, and she loved him. 

"Thanks, Lizzy," Phil said softly. Clint's eyes were already closed, his breathing evening out as Phil ran his fingers through his hair.

She nodded. "I'll come back when dinner's about ready," she said. "Call if you need anything before then."

Phil hummed in response, his eyes on Clint.

***  
She excused herself and went upstairs to the guest room she and Trevor shared. She shut the door with shaking hands and sank onto the floor, aware she was breathing too quickly but unable to slow it down. Trevor came in and joined her on the floor, pulling her into his arms. 

"Hey," he said softly. 

"There was a gun in his briefcase," she said, muffling her words with his shoulder. "I know that shouldn't be a surprise, but somehow….."

"Yeah, I know," Trevor said, stroking her back with one hand and holding her close. "It's okay, Liz."

"Those were _cigarette burns,_ Trevor," she said. "And the other one, what was that?"

"Probably a cattle prod," Trevor said. "I saw one of those in residency; it had the same look. He must have been tortured for days." His tone was matter-of-fact, professional, but his hand stilled for a moment, then flexed, gripping her sweater tightly, before he resumed the slow strokes up and down.

"Do you think Phil was, too?" she asked him. At some point she'd started crying.

"I don't know, honey," Trevor answered. "I hope not."

"I just…I never thought, Trevor. I knew he had a dangerous job, I knew he'd been hurt, but I never got it, not until now."

"Yeah, me neither," Trevor said. "Maybe he was right, keeping this all hidden from us."

"No," Liz said, shaking her head. "No, it's better to know. It's…it's harder, but it's better." She didn't know if she was making any sense, but Trevor seemed to understand. 

Trevor pulled back to study her face. "Okay," he said. 

"It's a good thing Jenny didn't see," Liz said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood. 

Trevor smiled a little. "Yeah," he said. "You know, Clint's going to be all right. He's recovering well, and Phil's taking good care of him."

Liz nodded. "Seems like he's had some practice," she said, frowning. 

"He's definitely an experienced field medic," Trevor agreed.

It wasn't exactly what she'd meant, but she figured Trevor knew that.

"You can tell they really love each other," he offered.

"I know," Liz said, and took a deep breath. She did know, and she needed to focus on that. "He's…I've never seen him so happy, Trev, _never."_

"I guess they could teach all of us something about living in the moment," Trevor said, tightening his arms around her. "It certainly makes me aware of how lucky we are. I love you and our kids and our life, but sometimes I take it for granted."

"You're awfully smart for a physician," she said, and kissed him. 

"I've learned a lot from this social worker I know," he responded, brushing her hair back. He held her for another few minutes before saying, "You want to stay up here for a while? I can tell everyone you're taking a nap."

"No, that's okay," she said. "Just give me a minute to splash my face."

"All right," Trevor said. "I'll see you downstairs, then--I want to check on Hannah and Brian, make sure they're okay."

She nodded at him gratefully. 

***  
Everyone downstairs was pretending very hard that everything was normal, although the kids were more subdued than usual. Liz put a jazz Christmas CD on, keeping the volume low, and went to help her mother get things ready for dinner. Jen set the table with her usual flair. By the time the turkey came out of the oven, everyone had relaxed.

Phil opened his eyes the minute she stepped into the sunroom, but Clint was snoring softly, his face turned towards Phil's neck, his lips parted. He looked younger when he was sleeping.

"Dad's carving," Liz said quietly. "Dinner in about ten minutes."

Phil nodded. "Clint," he murmured, kissing his forehead. 

Clint went from asleep to sitting upright, his eyes wild, faster than Liz would have believed possible. When he saw Liz, he blinked, and the wildness was instantly replaced by the same kind of calm control her brother was so expert at. "Hey," he said, his voice rusty from sleep. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours," Liz answered, wondering what the fuck had just happened. "Dinner's gonna be ready soon."

Clint nodded. "Where did you hide my crutches, Coulson?"

"They're in the other room," Phil said, and now they had nearly identical calm, focused expressions.

"I'll get them," Liz said quickly. She didn't know what to make of Clint's reaction to waking up. If she thought about it too much, she'd probably start to freak out all over again.

***  
They'd always helped themselves to holiday dinners, all the food laid out buffet style on the kitchen counters. No one had thought about how someone on crutches with broken fingers was going to manage to serve himself, or even hold a plate, not until Clint was standing in the kitchen, balanced on one crutch and studying the layout like he was trying to work out a strategic plan. Phil looked like he was about to step in, but Stephanie beat him to it, coming up to Clint and saying, "Just tell me what you want, and how much, okay?"

"Okay," Clint said, a puzzled expression on his face. "Thanks." Stephanie worked her way through the dishes efficiently, although she made her opinions on brussels sprouts (horrible) and sweet potatoes (awesome) very clear. Clint asked a few questions as she filled his plate with small portions of just about everything, with bigger portions of mashed potatoes and turkey. The two bowls of stuffing were on the far end of the counter.

"You don't want that kind," Stephanie said authoritatively, pointing to the larger bowl. "That's the oyster stuffing. Aunt Liz says you're allergic to shellfish, even lobster. That's too bad, because lobster is _awesome."_

Liz saw Clint glance across the counter at Phil, who gave him a small shrug, one corner of his mouth going up. "Thanks for the warning," Clint told Stephanie. "You're right, I should stay away from the shellfish." Phil gave Liz the same tiny smile that he'd given Clint, and she nodded in response.

Neither Phil nor Clint had any wine with dinner. Jen allowed Dad to pour her some, but it sat untouched until Scott switched his empty glass with hers. Liz caught Jen's eye and raised an eyebrow. Jen flushed and looked away.

Clint ate like a man who'd known hunger. She could see he was trying to pace himself, to eat slowly, but he still finished his plate before anyone else, praising her mother's cooking enthusiastically. Phil finished a few minutes later and got up without a word to refill Clint's plate. Clint's second helping was comprised of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and the green bean casserole their mother hated but made every year anyway, since most of the rest of them loved it. Apparently those were the right choices, if the smile Clint gave Phil was any indication. 

As she did every year, her mother gave Phil an absolutely enormous slice of pumpkin pie. She gave Clint one that was nearly as big; it was a good thing they'd made extra this year. They had nearly identical expressions of contained bliss as they ate the pie. 

The two of them were involved in some sort of whispered debate after dinner; Liz suspected that Clint had had enough of her brother fussing over him. It ended when Clint got up from the table and made his way into the living room, appearing confident and relaxed on his crutches, and sat down on the sofa. "Go," he said, making a shooing motion at Phil. "I've got a game to watch."

"Everyone ready?" Jen asked, opening the closet to take out her family's coats. 

"Do you need anything before we go?" Phil asked Clint.

"I'm fine," Clint said, rolling his eyes. "Get out of here already."

Once they got outside, Jen and Scott took off at their usual rapid pace, while Liz, Trevor, and Phil meandered along behind them. The kids stuck with them until they got to the beach path, at which point they took off running. Trevor nodded at Liz and Phil and walked rapidly after the kids, calling out to them to be careful. 

The wind had dropped, but so had the temperature. Liz huddled into her jacket, wondering if the years she'd spent in Virginia had made her soft, because it wasn't _that_ cold, even if she could see her breath. She hoped the kids' jackets were warm enough.

She and Phil turned to walk down the beach in the opposite direction from everyone else. Neither one of them said anything until they'd reached a large piece of driftwood well out of earshot of the rest of their family. It was a clear night, with a gibbous moon; they didn't need the flashlights they'd brought with them. 

"So, on a scale of one to running screaming for the hills, exactly how freaked out are you?" Phil asked her, giving her his _I'm your big brother, and I'm concerned about you_ smile.

"Pretty freaked out," Liz said, figuring it was best to be honest.

Phil looked down. "I'm sorry. I've wanted to tell you for so long, and I was so scared that night that I let it cloud my judgment. It was selfish of me; I should have known better."

Liz put her hand on his arm. "Phil, just because I'm scared doesn't mean I'd rather not know. I'm glad you let it slip; I'm glad you felt you could trust us. And I'm glad I finally know at least a little about what's really going on."

Phil studied her face. "Are you sure?" he asked after a moment.

She nodded. "I'm sure."

"Okay," Phil said, accepting. "I have some paperwork for you and Trevor in my briefcase. I brought packets for the rest of the family, too, but I don't know…. I could see how upset you were this afternoon, and if _you_ were that upset, I can't imagine how Jen's going to react. Maybe we should just keep it between the four of us."

Liz frowned a little in confusion, then realized the fourth person he was talking about must be Clint. She shook her head. "Right now, all of us are in the dark. We know enough to be scared, that's it. Maybe Trev and I know a little more than everyone else, but no one except Dad thinks you're an accountant, Phil. We've always worried, but now, seeing what happened to Clint, we're even more worried. We love you, we worry about you, and we'd like to know the truth, or as much of it as you can tell us."

"Okay," Phil said again. "I can't tell you much now, not until you've signed the confidentiality agreements, but is there anything in particular you'd like to ask me? With the proviso that I might not be able to answer, of course."

Liz took a deep breath. "I don't know if you can answer them or not, but I do have some questions."

"What are they?" Phil asked.

She braced herself for both what she was about to ask and what Phil's answer might be. "How long was he tortured?" She was relieved that her voice didn't crack.

Phil went still. "Eight days," he said quietly, looking out over the water. She could barely hear him over the sound of the waves.

"And you?" Liz asked, and this time her voice did crack.

"Zee, no," Phil said quickly, turning back to her. "I wasn't…they didn't hurt me."

"If there's something you can't tell me, that's fine, but do not fucking lie to me about this, Phil," Liz said, because there was no way that was the truth.

"I'm not," Phil protested. 

She looked at him steadily and waited. He turned back to the water again, his stance rigid, like he was trying to hold himself together. "Phil," she said gently, squeezing his arm.

He put his hand over hers, but it took a few minutes before he said anything. "They didn't hurt me," he repeated eventually, his voice tightly controlled. "They only hurt Clint."

"But?" Liz asked. 

"But they made me watch," Phil said after another few seconds. "All of it, they made me watch."

"Oh, _Phil,"_ she said helplessly, throwing her arms around him. He stayed stiff and straight for a second, then dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and clung to her tightly. She could feel him trembling, hear how his breath hitched. "It's okay, Filbert," she said, rubbing his back and kissing his cheek. "Clint's okay. It's over, and Clint's okay."

They stayed like that for a while. When Phil finally pulled away, they both had to wipe their eyes. "Sorry," Phil said.

"Don't be an idiot," Liz said, kissing his cheek again.

Phil nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

"Anytime," Liz said, wondering how often she might need to offer that kind of comfort. Wondering if and when she'd need to comfort him after Clint's death, or if Clint would come to her one day after Phil's. She took a deep breath and scrubbed at her eyes again.

Phil wandered down to the water, picking up a stone and skipping it across the waves. 

She gave him a few minutes--he seemed to need it, and so did she--and then said his name. 

"Yeah, Zee?"

She screwed up her courage again. _It's better to know,_ she reminded herself. "Does this kind of thing happen often?"

His eyes went wide, and he shook his head vigorously, taking her by the shoulders. "No," he said firmly. "Lizzy, no, it doesn't. Believe it or not, I actually do spend most of my time in an office. When I go out on assignments, they usually run perfectly. The team I work with, they're the best there is."

"You promise?" she asked shakily.

"I promise you we do everything possible to make each mission run without a hitch," he said. "There are never any guarantees, but that would be true no matter what I was doing."

She nodded. She could tell he wasn't lying this time.

"We won't be going out on anything at all any time soon," he added. "Clint will be on medical leave for at least four months."

"Okay," she said, relieved that at least nothing else would happen for a while.

"We should probably be heading back," Phil said. "Do you think we can get the kids busy with something downstairs so I can talk to everyone?"

"I'm sure we could find a movie for them to watch," she answered. 

"Good," he said, and led her back up the beach to where Trevor and the kids were waiting.

***

Less than an hour later, they were seated at the dining room table again, Clint directly to Phil's right, she and Trevor to the left. "What's this about, son?" their father asked.

Phil opened his briefcase, taking out the manila envelopes she'd glimpsed earlier. She saw the gun, too, more clearly this time. What little she knew about guns came from movies or television, but this one was very real: black and dangerous looking, like the kind cops and soldiers and FBI agents must use, probably holding a lot of bullets. 

Phil had been offered sniper training in the Rangers, and Clint was a marksman. They probably didn't even notice the gun; it was just a tool to them. Part of their job.

Next to the gun was an ID tag with Phil's picture and a logo that looked a bit like an eagle.

"There's one of these for each of you," Phil said, passing out the envelopes, which were labeled with their names. The labels had the same logo she'd seen on his ID. "Don't open them yet," he admonished Scott, who was already fiddling with the seal. "I need to tell you a few things before you do."

He looked at Clint, and then at Liz. She gave him a smile she hoped was reassuring.

Phil stood up, and it was like a switch was flipped. Someone Liz had never seen before was standing in front of them. She heard Jen gasp, and Scott muttered something under his breath. 

The man standing in front of them was Agent Coulson, not her brother. He stood there with confidence and control, every inch of him proclaiming his utter and complete command of the room. 

"You've all been subject to thorough background checks, and you all passed. If you hadn't, we wouldn't be having this discussion. No matter what you decide once you've read the paperwork in the envelopes, you will never share anything we talk about tonight with anyone outside this room," he said. "The mere acknowledgment that there might be something more to Barton's and my jobs than accounting is classified. If any of you wish to leave now, I'll understand."

Not one of them so much as blinked. It was so quiet they could hear the kids laughing at the movie in the basement. After a moment, Jen started looking around at everyone the way she always did, wanting to know if they were as surprised as she was.

"Very well," Phil said. Jen focused on him again, along with everyone else, including Clint. "Inside your packets are a series of non-disclosure agreements and other documents. I cannot stress enough that these documents are not to be taken lightly. If you sign them and disregard them, the best you could hope for would be a lengthy prison term."

Phil paused and looked at each one of them. He must have been satisfied by what he saw, because he nodded once and went on. "I won't accept any of the documents for signature until tomorrow. You each need to read them very carefully before you decide whether or not to sign them. The safest thing you could do for yourselves and your families is to give them back to me right now and forget this conversation ever happened. Tell yourselves that Barton and I are government accountants, and make yourselves believe it."

"What if we decide to sign them?" Liz's father asked. He was staring at Phil, looking even more shocked than the rest of them.

"Then Barton and I will witness your signatures tomorrow," Phil said, calm and matter-of-fact. "After that, there will be certain aspects of our lives that we'll be permitted to share with you."

"Did your family sign, son?" her father asked Clint.

Clint shook his head. "Coulson's the only family I have, sir," he said, looking at Phil.

 _Not any more,_ Liz thought. Then she guiltily wondered if that was a good thing, or if having two of…whatever Phil and Clint were, spies or secret agents or even assassins, if that was more dangerous for them, for their kids. If there were more guns, or other weapons, in the bags her son and daughter had helped carry into the house.

 _Phil would never do anything to hurt the kids,_ she reminded herself. _Neither would Clint,_ she thought, but she wasn't sure she believed that yet.

"I don't have to remind you that none of the children can know anything about this," Phil said. "Whether or not you sign, you will need to return the documents to me tomorrow. Scott, once you've looked them over I'm sure you can inform everyone that they are air-tight. That's all I have."

He turned to Clint, and suddenly he was Phil again, the transformation seamless and complete. "You ready to go?" he asked Clint.

"Whenever you are," Clint replied. There was a tightness to his features that had been missing the last few hours, and he grimaced slightly as he levered himself up from the table. His medication must have worn off.

"Wait, you're _leaving?"_ Jen burst out incredulously. "You can't drop a bomb like this and just _leave,_ Phil!"

Phil's voice whipped out, once again in complete command. "Need I remind you that Clint is barely out of the hospital? He needs to rest. We'll see you all tomorrow morning."

Jennifer gaped at him, clutching at Scott's arm. Scott looked angry for a second before turning to her with a reassuring glance.

"Let them go, Jennifer," her mother said. It was the first time she'd opened her mouth since they sat down. "We'll tell the kids you said goodbye," she added. Something flashed over Clint's face too quickly for Liz to read.

"I'll get them," Phil told Clint. "You head towards the door; I'll meet you there."

"I'll get your coats," Liz said, following Phil out of the dining room.

The kids came barreling up the stairs from the basement a minute later, Brian in the lead. "Bye, Uncle Clint!" he said, squeezing his arms in beneath Clint's crutches to give him a hug.

"Be careful, Brian," Phil admonished.

"It's okay," Clint said gruffly, taking his left hand off the handle of his crutch and ruffling Brian's hair. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay, kiddo?"

Hannah hugged him next. "Will you tell us more about archery?" she asked.

"Sure," Clint said easily. Liz wasn't sure that was a good idea, but she didn't think she could do anything to stop it.

"I'm really sorry I hurt you earlier," Stephanie said, approaching him gingerly.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I know you didn't mean to, and I'm fine now, see?" He balanced on his good leg and moved both crutches to one side so he could put his arm around her.

Hannah and Brian insisted on hugging him again. Phil said, "What am I, chopped liver?" and they all rushed to hug him goodbye as well. He was completely her brother again.

Liz approached Clint while that was going on. "I'm sorry about the kids; they don't always realize how overwhelming they can be."

Clint ducked his head and gave her a shy smile. "Nah, don't be sorry. They're great."

"So are you," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Welcome to the family, Clint." Phil loved him. That made him family, no matter what.

"Thanks," Clint murmured, looking down, still smiling.

Liz saw her mother give Phil a long hug. She moved on to Clint next, which freed Phil up for Liz. "Sleep well, brother mine," she said as they embraced.

"You, too, Zee," he answered quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

***  
Once the kids had gone back to their movie, the adults opened their packets. Liz guessed they were fairly straightforward for government legal documents. The penalties were certainly laid out clearly: violation of the Homeland Security Act, the National Security Act, the Intelligence Reform and Terrorism Prevention Act, and the National Security Intelligence Reform Act, any of which could result in a conviction for treason. There were many places to initial or sign, and at the bottom of the last page there was a section for witnesses. Two names and titles were typed in below the signature lines: Phillip J. Coulson, Senior Agent, Executive; and Clinton F. Barton, Senior Agent, Specialist.

The packet also included written explanations of what it meant to have the security clearance they were applying for, lists of all the ways they could not communicate any information they might receive, warning signs that someone might be trying to get them to talk, and how to contact the proper authorities if they felt they might be in danger. The actual information for the proper authorities was blank. One last form authorized monitoring their physical locations with GPS and their conversations via wiretaps and "other means of surveillance," whatever that meant. Liz trusted Phil, she really did, but she wasn't sure how she felt about that. 

"Executive Senior Agent," Scott said, looking up from his paperwork. "I guess Phil's some kind of hotshot, huh?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Liz said, bristling a little.

" _You_ don't sound surprised at all," Jen accused. "You knew this was coming."

Liz shook her head. "He called me when Clint was hurt, and I overheard a nurse refer to them as Agent Coulson and Agent Barton. That's all I heard, and it's not anything we didn't suspect already."

Jen didn't look like she believed it, but Scott spoke up before she could say anything else. "Phil was right about these being air-tight. I'm glad he's giving us some time to think this over. It's not going to be an easy decision."

"You're not seriously suggesting not signing them, are you?" Jen asked her husband.

He looked at her, frowning. "I'm suggesting we talk about it, give it some thought, and sleep on it before we decide, because it's going to affect us and our _family_ for the rest of our lives."

"Dad, you and Mom haven't said much," Liz said quickly, hoping Scott and Jen would let their fight in the making wait until they were alone.

Her father shook his head. "I guess I should have known better," he said. "Your mother tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen." He looked so confused that Liz almost felt sorry for him.

"You've had a blind spot about Phillip ever since he told us he was gay," her mother said, her voice an echo of Phil's, her words just as inescapable as his. "We'll sign the papers tomorrow, and maybe then you'll finally see our son for the brave, strong, wonderful man he is. "

There didn't seem to be anything left to say after that, so Liz went downstairs. The kids were watching one of the Harry Potter movies, and when she approached the sofa Hannah and Brian moved over so she could sit between them. She put one arm around each of them and pulled them close. They came willingly, only squirming a little bit. She sat with them until the movie was over and it was time for them to go to bed. 

When the kids were tucked in, she and Trevor sat down on the bed. "We're going to sign, right?" she asked him.

"We're going to sign," Trevor agreed. "You didn't really think I'd say no, did you?"

"Not really, but with the way Scott reacted--"

"I'm not Scott," Trevor reminded her. "It's a big deal, but I trust Phil, and I know you do, too."

"Yeah, I do," Liz said. 

"But?" Trevor prompted.

Liz shook her head. "It's nothing."

It took her a long time to get to sleep that night.

***  
There were a lot of significant looks exchanged the following morning, but no one could say anything with the kids around. Jen looked like she hadn't slept much, but she and Scott were acting normal with each other, so Liz guessed they'd worked it out. Phil and Clint didn't make it to the house until around ten. They both looked better than they had when they'd left the night before. 

Clint was wearing a tight black t-shirt and cargo pants. Liz could see a few bruises and burns on his arms, but they were in far better condition than what she'd seen of his legs and abdomen the day before. Whatever shape his skin was in, it was difficult to look away from his arms. She and Jen smirked at each other in mutual appreciation after Clint reached across the table for the syrup. Phil noticed and gave them half a smile, totally the cat that ate the canary. Clint just poured the syrup and started eating.

After pancakes Clint was surrounded by kids asking him about archery. Brian asked if he could shoot an apple off someone's head like William Tell.

"An apple's easy," Clint said. "A strawberry's more like it. That's what we used in the circus."

"No way!" Brian shouted gleefully.

"Yes way," Clint answered, grinning widely. "From horseback."

"That's impossible," Stephanie said, and Clint looked at Phil for confirmation.

"For most people, maybe, but not for Clint. I've seen him do it," Phil told the kids. Liz could see Clint's cheeks flush when he said it.

"I wish you could show us," Hannah said. "I mean, we don't have a horse or anything, but I wish you had your bow with you."

"Your uncle wouldn't let me bring it," Clint told her, holding up his right hand, the one with the broken fingers. "Doctors' orders."

"Can you bring it at Christmas?" Brian asked, and Clint looked startled for a brief moment.

"Maybe," he said, glancing at Phil again. "I might still be on crutches, though."

"If he can't show you at Christmas, he'll do it some other time," Phil said easily. "Maybe we'll be able to make it up here next summer, at least for a weekend."

"I hope you can; that would be so cool," Brian said, looking at Clint like he hung the moon. Clint was looking at Phil with a similar expression.

"We could go swimming, and get fish and chips at our favorite place," Hannah said eagerly. "And play mini-golf! Do you like mini-golf?" 

"I don't know; I've never tried it," Clint said. "You'll have to teach me." His cheeks were still flushed, and he had that shy smile on his face again.

"I'm destined to be the boring uncle from now on," Phil said to Liz. He was watching Clint, and you could almost see cartoon hearts swirling around his head. It was adorable, and it was difficult to reconcile with the man who'd spoken to them the previous evening. "I suppose I'll have to learn to live with it."

Liz kissed him on the cheek. "Love's a good look on you, Filbert."

Phil put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Thanks, Zee." She leaned closer and hugged him for a minute or two.

"Was it really okay with Clint when Hannah called him uncle?" Liz asked after they separated. "I swear I had no idea she was going to do it."

"It freaked him out, yeah, but it was good," Phil said. "He's not used to having any family, so the way everyone pulled him in so quickly is hard for him to believe. To trust. He wants it, though. He deserves it."

"He seemed really touched when they gave him the get well cards they'd made him this morning," Liz offered.

"He was," Phil said, meeting her eyes. "No one's ever done anything like that for him before, Lizzy. He still has the fan letters kids gave him when he was in the circus; his bows are the only other things he kept. He gave me the cards to put in my briefcase, to keep them safe, and when I told them we'd put them up on the fridge at home, you should have seen his face. You have no idea how much this all means to him."

"He's great with the kids; it's no wonder they've taken to him so quickly," Liz said. "I hope he realizes what he's gotten himself into."

"He doesn't," Phil said, watching Clint again. "But that's because he doesn't believe it yet. Maybe by next year he will."

***  
Jen and Scott were sniping at each other again by lunch; Liz didn't know how they were going to hold it together until they could send the kids down to the basement again after dinner. Fortunately, unexpected help arrived after lunch. Leslie Horner, a local with a son, Peter, who often played with the kids in the summers, called to see if Brian, Hannah, and Stephanie wanted to join Peter at the new Harry Potter movie. 

"Can we go, Mom?" Brian asked. 

"Of course you can, honey," Liz said, holding back a sigh of relief. "Have a good time." She gave Hannah money for both of them and told her to keep a close eye on her brother. 

"Is it okay if I take them out for pizza after the movie?" Leslie asked, looking at Liz and Jen. "They haven't had any time to visit since the summer."

"It's okay with me if it's okay with you," Liz said to Jen, willing her to for once eschew the drama and answer like a normal person.

"Sure, that would be great," Jen said. "More turkey soup for the rest of us, right, sis?"

"You have to save some for us!" Hannah said. 

"Don't worry, Banana, there's plenty of soup. You can have some for lunch tomorrow," Scott told her. 

They hustled the kids out the door. Once they heard Leslie's car drive down the street, everyone left the room to get their paperwork. They met up in the dining room a few minutes later and stood around the table, waiting, until Clint limped in on his crutches, followed by Phil. 

Phil got Clint seated, brushing his hand across the back of Clint's neck. Then he opened up his briefcase and took charge of the room once again. He looked around the table and said, "I hope you all have had enough time to read over the documents and make your decision. Is there anyone who needs more time?"

Everyone either shook their heads or murmured, "No."

"We're ready to sign, Phil," Liz said, because she figured someone had to get the ball rolling.

Phil nodded in acknowledgment. "Would anyone like to return their packet without signing?"

"We're all signing, son," her father said. Liz looked at Jen and Scott, but they were looking at Phil, and neither one of them made any move to give him their envelope.

"You're sure?" Phil asked. 

"We're sure," Scott said.

"Told you, Coulson," Clint said, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"Would you like a gold star, Barton?" Phil asked him, so deadpan that anyone who didn't know him would think he was serious. 

Clint grinned at him. "Right here, sir," he said, pointing to his forehead.

Phil ignored him. "If you'll take out your documents, Barton and I will go over them with you one by one. We'll need to witness your signatures and brief you on emergency contact measures. Once that's finished, we'll give you all a more detailed briefing. You'll be permitted to ask questions at that time, although we may not be able to answer them. Mom, I'll start with you. Dad, you can get started with Clint. The rest of you, please wait in the living room; we'll call you each in when we're ready."

Her parents were in the dining room for about fifteen minutes. Trevor turned on the television and found a football game that they pretended to watch while they waited. Then her parents came out, and it was Jen and Scott's turn. 

"I guess they're saving the best until last, huh?" Trevor whispered into her ear. 

"More likely trying to stave off any extra drama from Jen," Liz whispered back. "You know she'd take it as some sort of dig if Phil brought me in before her."

"Good point," Trevor said, kissing her temple.

"You doing okay, guys?" Liz asked her parents. 

"We're fine, honey," her mother said, although her father looked shell-shocked again.

"Who's playing?" he asked Trevor, focusing on the television.

"I have no idea," Trevor admitted. 

"Notre Dame and Ohio State," her father said after a moment, frowning. "I think Yale's playing today; hand me the remote."

Liz barely kept herself from snorting; her father had rarely paid any attention to Yale football in the past. They all pretended to care about the football game until Jen and Scott came out. "I guess we're up," Liz said.

Phil and Clint were back in agent mode when they entered the dining room. She and Trevor sat down between Phil and Clint, Trevor on Phil's side, Liz on Clint's. She opened her envelope and took out the documents, reaching for the pen that was resting on the table in front of her.

"Hold on," Clint said, looking at her seriously. "We're gonna take this one step at a time." His voice held every bit as much command as her brother's had, and she put her hand back down automatically.

He took her through each section, sometimes through individual sentences, explaining everything and making sure she understood before she initialed or signed. Liz could hear Phil doing the same with Trevor. 

When they got to the section about how to contact SHIELD (that was the name of the organization they worked for, although Liz promptly forgot what the letters stood for) in an emergency, he gave her a card with a single phone number on it, a code name (Zookeeper Charlie), and a set of protocols she had to memorize. "You'll probably never have to use them, but it's best to be prepared," he told her. She swallowed and took the card with a nod. 

They signed the authorization for surveillance. Then Phil and Clint watched as she and Trevor signed and dated the final page, following with their own signatures. "I don't think I've signed so many places since we bought the house," Trevor joked, squeezing Liz's hand.

"You should've seen what I had to go through to move in to Coulson's place," Clint said, cracking a smile. 

Phil snorted. "A drop in the bucket compared to what I've had to fill out concerning you over the years, Barton. Liz, would you go ask everyone to come in?"

"Sure, Agent Filbert," Liz said, reaching over and punching him lightly on the arm to remind him, and herself, that he was with his family, not at work. 

"It's a good thing you're his sister, Zookeeper--if a stranger made a move like that, Coulson'd probably take them down with that pen," Clint said, smirking. 

Phil blanched and gave Clint a stricken look. "Shit, babe, I'm sorry; I wasn't thinking," Clint said quickly, reaching across the table for his hand. 

Phil nodded, his mouth tight. Liz looked at him and decided not to ask.

"And by the way, I'm _fine,"_ Clint added, squeezing Phil's hand. Liz jerked her head at Trevor; they didn't need to be here for whatever this conversation was about. Frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

When she and Trevor came into the living room, everyone got up from the sofa. Liz held her hand up. "Give them a minute, okay? This is a big deal for them, too."

Jen looked like she wanted to say something, but she held her tongue. "Who wants some coffee?" her mother asked, moving towards the kitchen. "I'll get a plate of cookies ready, too; I'm sure we could all use a little pick me up."

"Did anyone notice how Clint takes his?" her father asked.

Liz had to school her expression to keep the surprise off her face. "Black, I think," she said. 

"I'm pretty sure I saw him stick some sugar in it," Jen corrected her.

"Jennifer, why don't you grab the sugar and cream to take in," her mother said. "Elizabeth, can you get the cookies? The men can handle the mugs and plates, and I'll bring in the pot; there should be enough for everyone."

When they entered the dining room again, Phil had moved into the seat next to Clint's. Their mother went to him, and he leaned his head against her side for a moment. She murmured something into his ear and kissed his cheek. Clint was watching the two of them with a soft expression. Liz reminded herself that Clint didn't have any family. As Phil had said, no matter what he did at work, he deserved one. 

She put the plate of cookies down in front of Clint and squeezed his shoulder. "I like the peanut butter chocolate chip the best, but the pumpkin squares are Phil's favorite."

Clint smiled. "Pumpkin squares, of course. Phil would eat pumpkin pie every day if he could."

"You say that like it would be a bad thing," Phil said, snaring two pumpkin squares. One went on his plate, the other directly into his mouth. "When did you make these, Mom?" he asked, his mouth full. It was completely and refreshingly familiar, something she'd seen countless times over the years. Clint put another pumpkin square on Phil's plate and took one for himself.

"This morning," she answered. "Don't eat them all, Phillip; save some for everyone else."

The coffee pot and cookie plate made the rounds. Phil waited until everyone had what they wanted before he stood up, once again taking up the commanding mode Liz had never seen before the previous evening. "I'll begin with a basic overview of SHIELD and our role within it. Please hold your questions until I finish."

Liz and the rest of her family sat and listened as Phil told them about the organization he and Clint worked for. SHIELD got its start in the US but now had international oversight. It worked for the protection not just of the United States, but of the world as a whole, against not only terrorist threats and the like, but served as a bulwark against "unknown and previously unanticipated threats." 

"What the hell does that mean?" Scott interrupted. 

Phil gave him another one of his perfectly bland and perfectly intimidating looks. "I'm afraid we can't discuss it in detail."

"Coulson means threats like aliens, mutants, and mad scientists," Clint said, ignoring the glare Phil gave him. "We haven't had to deal with a lot of that, but it's part of our mission to be prepared for anything. The genesis of SHIELD was the division that came up with the super soldier program back in World War II."

"You mean you work for the people who created Captain America?" Jen said, a delighted smile on her face. "Phil, that must be so awesome for you!"

Phil ignored her, but the tips of his ears went pink. "Barton and I are part of a small team. I'm mainly responsible for oversight and strategy, although Barton assists. He's trained as a sniper, but he also does surveillance and infiltration. Although I'm nominally the leader, we work as a collaborative team. I consider myself privileged to work with him; he's the best in the world at what he does."

Clint snorted. "You need to know that your brother is understating his role considerably," he said. "Coulson's the best in the world at what _he_ does. He reports to the head of the agency directly, and there is no one at SHIELD who isn't in awe of him. He's been offered a promotion to Assistant Director more than once, but he keeps turning it down. I overheard the Director referring to him as his 'one good eye,' and other agents call him 'the agent's agent.' Your son's a total badass, if you'll forgive me, ma'am," he finished, turning towards their parents.

Liz's mother nodded. She didn't look surprised, but her husband did, although he was trying to hide it. Liz suppressed a sigh; she was getting tired of that expression on her father's face.

"I turned down that promotion because I'd rather continue working with my team," Phil corrected Clint, giving him the same bland yet intimidating look he'd given Scott. "You and I will have a discussion later about how you obtained this information, Agent Barton."

Clint grinned. "Finding out things is kinda what I do, boss. That and shooting bad guys. It goes along with the surveillance."

Phil gave Clint a sharp look, then met Liz's eyes, assessing her reaction. Liz clenched her fists under the table and offered him a weak smile. Trevor put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Okay, I'm really confused," Jen said, her brow furrowed. Liz bit back a snide comment, eager to focus on her sister's shortcomings and not the confirmation that Clint and Phil killed people for a living. "So this whole relationship thing, that's a cover?" Scott leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, just as interested in their response as his wife.

"What? No, of course not!" Phil said, looking alarmed. It was nice to see her brother again, even if it was just for a minute. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Relax, Phil," Clint said, putting his hand on Phil's arm. "I've got this one." He turned to Scott and Jen. "See, Coulson--Phil--and I have been working together for years, and we want to keep it that way. So we have to keep things separate. Work is work, and home is home. When we're at work, it's the same as it always was: he's Coulson, and I'm Barton. Doesn't mean we're not together," he added, looking up at Phil fondly.

"That we are," Phil said softly. He sat down and took Clint's hand. "As a matter of fact, our relationship is the main reason I decided to read you all in. After what happened last week, I wanted to know that if something happened to either one of us, the other one would be permitted to discuss it with you. If something happens to Clint, I'll need my family. And if something happens to me, I want Clint to have you to rely on."

" _That's_ what you meant?" Clint asked him. "Phil…"

Phil didn't say anything else, just leaned his forehead against Clint's temple. Clint turned towards him, and Phil kissed him.

No one said anything for a minute, although Jen was, of course, looking around the table to see how everyone else was reacting.

"What _did_ happen last week, son?" her father eventually asked. "I assume it wasn't a car accident."

Phil shook his head. "I can't tell you any details, just that the team was captured, and they…they focused their interrogation on Clint. They had us for over a week before we escaped."

"Before you took out three goons with a dried out ballpoint and carried me out of there, you mean," Clint said. Liz shivered a little at the conversational tone of his voice, and Trevor stroked her arm. "Saved my life, and not for the first time."

"Just returning the favor," Phil said, his tone matching Clint's. "The carrying, I mean," he added after their father made a startled sound and nearly choked on his coffee.

"I had to carry Phil when he was drugged to the gills a couple of ops ago," Clint said, this time with affection. "Some kind of truth serum. He didn't give away anything to the goons who drugged him, just told me he was in love with me and passed out. No harm done. Quite the opposite, really."

Liz's mouth fell open when she figured it out. "That's what you meant when you said some colleagues got you drunk?" she said, surprising herself by laughing. "I knew there was something fishy about that story!"

Phil's cheeks flushed. "It was the best I could do on short notice, Liz."

"No, it's great, it's perfect," she said, smirking at him. "Only you would need _truth serum_ to tell someone you loved them."

"Clint wasn't any better about it than I was," Phil said, a touch defensively. "We were both idiots."

"It's true," Clint said fondly. "We'd probably have spent another few years pining for each other if it wasn't for the drugs."

"Can we get back to the part where you're, like, secret agents?" Jen asked. "How long has that been going on, Phil?"

"Since I left the Rangers," Phil answered. "Well, technically it started when I was still with them, but you're not supposed to know that."

"Were you in the Army as well, Clint?" Liz's mother asked.

"Nope," Clint said, something darker beneath the easy response. "I was in the circus; that's where I learned to shoot. Later, I got in some trouble, but Phil found me, got me out, and recruited me."

"So that bit about the Amazing Hawkeye was true?" Jen said.

"He was billed as the World's Greatest Marksman," Phil said, looking at Clint with quiet pride. "That's been true since he was sixteen, and he's only gotten better since then. He never misses, whether he's shooting with a rifle, his bow, or a slingshot he put together out of scraps. His vision and aim are incredible, and he can calculate trajectories in his head faster than should even be possible."

"None of that would be worth a damn if you hadn't found me," Clint said. Jen had to have been blind if she hadn't been able to see how real their relationship was.

Liz's mother asked about the kinds of missions they went on, and how dangerous they were. Phil told all of them the same things he'd told Liz the night before about how he worked in an office and their operations went perfectly most of the time. 

"It's usually pretty boring," Clint said. "I'm stuck up on a roof somewhere for hours, with only Coulson's voice on the comms to keep me from going nuts."

"There's not really anything more to discuss," Phil said, looking at Clint sidelong. "I hope I haven't made things more difficult for any of you by telling you the truth; I know you'll worry."

"We already worried, Phillip," Liz's mother said. She gave her husband a nudge.

"I…Phil, I don't know what to say," he said. "I'm sorry. I should have known better."

"It's okay, Dad," Phil said, in the same resigned tone he usually had when he talked to his father. "I know this has to be a shock for you."

"It shouldn't have been," their father said, shaking his head. "I won't underestimate you again, son."

Liz wished she could believe that.

"Being underestimated is one of Coulson's superpowers," Clint said, bumping his shoulder against Phil's. "He's an expert at appearing to be nothing more than a boring guy in a suit. Most people outside of SHIELD never find out what a badass he is unless he wants them to, and by then it's usually too late."

Clint didn't specify what he meant by "too late," but from the warning look Phil gave him, it was fairly obvious. Instead, he said, "You should be damned proud of your son, Mr. Coulson. He may not look like it to the average person, but as far as I'm concerned, he's as much a superhero as Captain America ever was."

Phil snorted. "If anyone's a superhero, it's you."

"Well, I did rock that purple spandex," Clint said, flexing his arm and grinning. 

"I bet you did," Jen said, looking at him. Scott elbowed her, not at all subtly. 

"On that note," Phil said, "I think it's clear there's nothing more we need to discuss at the moment." He straightened all their signed forms and put them into his briefcase, closing it with a decisive snap. "I'm going to put these in a safe place."

***  
The rest of the holiday weekend went by without major incident, although everyone remained a bit on edge. Trevor insisted on looking at Clint's leg every day, but there was no more bleeding, and he told Liz it was healing well. The bruises on Clint's and Phil's faces subtly changed colors. Clint insisted on hobbling out to the beach on his crutches on Sunday afternoon. Once he got on the sand, he dropped them and leaned on Phil instead. They made their way down to the water, looking across it for a moment, before Clint hopped back to sit on the rock wall with Phil.

When they got back to the house, Phil handed Clint his pills and some water. They napped on the sunroom sofa again until it was time for dinner, this time waking up on their own.

Jen asked Phil to take a walk with her that evening, and when they got back, they both seemed easier with each other. Liz was glad to see it; as annoying as she often found her younger sister, she knew how much Jen loved Phil. It was past time for the two of them to get beyond what had happened so many years ago. 

Jen was making an effort with everyone, it seemed, although she was also moody and prone to snap at people at odd moments. She took a nap nearly every afternoon, and she wasn't eating with her usual enthusiasm. Liz shared a couple of concerned looks with Trevor, but she kept her suspicions to herself. Jen had suffered three miscarriages after Stephanie. If Liz said something and she was wrong, she'd only make things worse. If she was right, Jen would be even touchier than usual. Better to wait and see, to let Scott take care of her the way he always did. The man had the patience of a saint. 

Liz didn't sleep much that weekend. When Phil asked if she was okay, she lied and said it was time their parents got a new mattress for the guest room. She knew he didn't buy it for a second, but he nodded anyway. 

Trevor had to head back to work on Monday, and the kids to school, but Liz had taken a few more vacation days, intending to spend it helping her father go through several boxes of old photographs, as well as doing some Christmas shopping with her mom, who abhorred the crowds on Black Friday but always wanted to go a few days later. "Isn't it so much nicer without all those people?" she'd always say, and Liz would agree with her. It was their thing, and it was always nice to get a few days away from the kids. She loved them more than anything, but they were a handful. Besides, she wasn't sure she was ready to deal with Hannah's insistence on learning archery.

She was surprised that Phil and Clint were staying until the end of the week, although perhaps she shouldn't have been. Phil showed few signs of what Jen had dubbed "Super Scary Badass Agent Phil" (dramatic but accurate), but Liz knew what to look for now. She could see it in the way he managed Clint's injuries, in the rapid, assured tapping of his fingers on his laptop as he, for the first time, sat at the kitchen table with his briefcase and worked openly on his real job. She learned why his expensive suits had never seemed to fit right before when she saw him shrug his jacket on over a shoulder holster and shoot his cuffs with a satisfied nod. 

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Clint asked her that afternoon. She glanced at him, startled; she'd been so busy watching Phil read his email she'd forgotten he was in the room.

"What we do," he clarified, meeting her eyes. "Phil told me you saw him with his holster this morning. I get it--you've got kids, a family; this isn't anything you signed up for. I wasn't sure we should tell you, but Phil insisted."

"I…" Liz trailed off, unsure.

"Go ahead," Clint said. "It's okay. I won't be offended."

"Do you really shoot people?" she blurted out. "Is that what you and Phil do, you kill people?"

Clint took a breath and said, "Sometimes, yeah. We get orders, we carry them out, but it's not…." He shook his head. "We have a choice. If either Coulson or I think something's not right, I don't take the shot. We…there's someone I was supposed to take out a couple of years ago. I made another call, your brother backed me up, and now she's my best friend. She's on our team now--don't tell him I told you, okay?"

She nodded, unsure if she wanted to hear more or wipe what he'd said out of her memory. 

"It's not political," he said. It was clear that mattered to him, although Liz wasn't sure it made any difference. "It's not, like, assassinating someone just 'cause some senator's pissed off at, like, Myanmar or something. It's human traffickers. The leaders of drug cartels. The occasional crazy-ass scientist trying to build something that could wipe out the planet. A couple of times it's been a serial killer no one else even knew about." He hadn't taken his eyes from her the whole time.

She nodded again, feeling sick. 

"Usually, though, it's just surveillance and infiltration. Your brother once spent three months in Antarctica watching a guy we thought…. Never mind what we thought; the point is, he was stuck down there for three months, bored out of his fucking mind, because absolutely nothing happened."

"Can you tell me…." She swallowed, cleared her throat. "Can you tell me where he was on 9/11?"

"Kenya," he answered, glancing at Phil. "He knew you guys would be worried; he moved heaven and earth until he got authorization to call you on the sat phone."

"You were there?"

Clint nodded, watching Phil, the corner of his mouth lifting. "He was in fine form that night, every inch a bad-ass, even without sleep for three days, sweating through that damned suit. If I hadn't already been in love with him, seeing him work every angle to make sure his family knew he was safe probably would've done the trick."

He turned back to Liz. "He'd never let anything happen to any of you," he said. "Neither would I. I think he's relieved that you're finally read in, just because it'll be easier to protect you now that you know."

"I guess that makes sense," Liz said, thinking of all the protocols she'd had to memorize.

"I don't expect you to be comfortable with any of this, you know," Clint said. "Neither does Phil. That's the last thing he wants, for you to be comfortable with what we do."

"Are you comfortable with it?" Liz asked.

"If I ever get there, that would be the time to quit doing it," Clint said, looking down for a moment. "Phil wouldn't let that happen to me, and I won't let it happen to him."

"Okay," Liz said, trying to believe it.

"I hope it hasn't changed how you feel about him. You may not know how lucky you are, having a family like yours, but Phil knows." _And so do I,_ he didn't say. Then again, he didn't need to. "I don't want him to lose that."

Liz shook her head. "That's never going to happen." As soon as she said it, she knew it was completely true, maybe for the first time since she'd seen that gun in his briefcase.

She glanced over and saw Phil had shut his laptop. He was looking at the two of them, his face open and vulnerable and full of love. That's when she knew everything was going to be all right.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: there's no graphic violence depicted here, but torture is mentioned, and the injuries from the torture are described.
> 
> The mission that Clint gets tortured on is the Juarez mission mentioned in The Gift of Idunn, continuing with the links in missions between those two universes and the universe of Long Range Reconnaissance.
> 
> You can find me either at [my fannish tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shellumbo) or [my pro writing tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sbyzmcpherson). Or you can follow either on Twitter: @shellumbo or @sbyzmcpherson. Or both!


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